


Deathless Ones (Five Times They Meet)

by KillerGirlFuria



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AU, Gen, Vampires, retrospection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5344538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerGirlFuria/pseuds/KillerGirlFuria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times they had meet. Four times he met her through eyes of those who were before him, and for the fifth time they meet, he truly meets her for the first time.</p><p>She is primal force molded with darkness, locked within one body that is forever, unchanged.<br/>And now, he is, too.</p><p>(It's a prequel to a planned story, albeit can and rather should be treated as standalone fic, as the story might or might not happen.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I know Desmond didn't go through Edward's memories, but let's pretend he did.

_A lily in a twilight place?_

_A moonflow’r in the lonely night?—_

_Strange beauty of a woman’s face_

_Of wildflow’r-white!_

It is dark, and it is cold. The night is moonless, and it’s so cloudy that even the brightest of stars gave nothing of their light.

The cave was wet and cold, water dripping from the walls. But it was no ordinary cave, with strange markings on the floor and walls, and with statue of a demon in the very center of it. Statue, that looked almost alive. And a form, small and shivering, under it, desperately holding to a golden needle with crystal stone on top of it.

“I have nothing to lose” the form that is a girl mutters. “Not anymore.”

The statue twists it’s face and bends down, opening one of its many eyes, and then asks; “Even your humanity?”

The girl looks up, neither afraid or shocked, her eyes so dark, so empty and so not human anymore.

“Especially that.”

That silences the statue, satisfied with an answer, and the girl plunges the needle into her arm.

Then-

Then a shriek, loud and inhuman, shakes the mountain to its very core.

**~•(x)•~**

His body lays motionless and already cold on the floor. Chapter is empty, cold. No more artifact, no more Juno. No more him.

He is dead, after all. He doesn’t feel a thing anymore. He doesn’t even care, since he just **is not**.

And then, there are steps. Fast, frantic steps, closer, and closer. And then, a shadow looms over cold, pale body that was once what others knew as Desmond Miles.

The shadow looms closer, and the one who casts it kneels over the body, and then opens a sack, immediately pulling out a knife and a tube with needles on both sides of it. The one – who apparently is a woman – plunges one needle into her arm, waiting patiently for the blood to flow through it, and then thrusts the other needle into Desmond’s visible, dark vein.

With remaining hand she rips his shirt open, pulls out a big syringe half-full of transparent liquid and pierces it into his chest, entering the liquid into the body. After that, she cuts deeply into his side and then, plunges her hand into his chest, grabbing heart and forcing it to stamp the blood.

“I’m sorry, Desmond, I’m so sorry I’m doing this to you, you do not deserve such fate” she gasps, still stimulating his heart. “But I still need you, so please – you can hate me for it as much as you want, but hate me for it later. I have absolutely nothing to say in my defense, I’m just so sorry, please, help me!”

Her breath is frantic as she stutters half-finished apologies, bur her hands are unnaturally steady.

And then, suddenly, the body jerks up in spasms, and he lets out a defeating, painful yell.

And, just like that, Desmond Miles **is** once again.


	2. First

_The rain that hangs a star’s green ray_

_Slim on a leaf-point’s restlessness,_

_Is not so glimmering green and gray_

_As was her dress._

As his consciousness, awareness slowly pours back into his stiff, cold and somewhat unfamiliar body, he starts to remember. Slowly, his darken vision turns milk-white, and the fades into shapes. He thinks, remembers, or maybe dreams – of the first time he had meet **her**.

Her, whom was kept (he kept her, or she kept herself?) secret from both Templars and Assassins. One whom had always seemed to know everything.

First time he meets her, it’s a bit rocky. It’s Altair, after all.

**~•(x)•~**

It was warm evening over Jerusalem, the ancient Jerusalem form almost a millennium ago – so calm, so calming, so perfect.

Altair was savoring this calmness, taking full, deep breaths of clean, warm, dry air surrounding him. He had done his mission well and, for a while, he had some free time away from Malik, the grumpiest person he’s ever seen in his whole life.

But then, a plank creaks behind him and he’s full alert, turning so swift, with his blade sheathed, ready to cut, to kill, and-

And he faces nothing.

Instead, something grabs both his hands from behind in a grip that’s delicate and yet far too strong for him to free himself, and he starts to panic.

“I will let go, if you will promise to not commit any stupid action” a feminine voice rings in his ear, and it’s so strange, because there’s no breath, no pulse, and the body is cold, as if it’s dead. But, after a while of thinking, Altair slowly nods, and, indeed, she lets him go. And doesn’t even bother to step away from him, which he takes advantage of-

Only to be immediately caught again. Only this time, he faces her properly. And blinks in shock; her skin is white like milk, hair black like a coal and eyes, so red, so red like a blood. Altair doesn’t like this. But the strange woman wears Assassin’s robes, albeit dark gray, and speaks his tongue as if it’s her own. She must be foreign, though. There’s no other way.

“Who are you, _Ghoul_?” Altair growls, instinctively nicknaming her after a monster his mentors used to tell him about. “What are you doing here?”

She cocks her head and pushes him away as if he was just a child, and answers; “Malik did not tell you? I could have suspected that, he seems to enjoy irritating you.”

“Told me what?” Altair growls impatiently, and she laughs. And as much as he hates to admit it, her laugh is friendly, warm, amused and nice to listen to, resonating through him.

“I was sent from far Irish kingdom by my own brotherhood to help you fight the Templars” woman finally answers, bowing slightly. “You may call me Saoirse.”

“Shall we be flattered that brotherhood from such afar is concerned about us, Ghoul?” Altair hissed, keeping his distance. Saoirse laughs, and her laugh is sweet.

**~•(x)•~**

First time they met, Altair almost broke into a fight with her, and Desmond is damn glad he actually didn’t in the end.


	3. Second

_I drew her dark hair from her eyes,_

_And in their deeps beheld a while_

_Such shadowy moonlight as the skies_

_Of Hell may smile._

Coincidences do happen, Desmond thinks to himself. They always do. He was, after all, very similar to his far ancestors as well, wasn’t he? So similarities, even after long, long years were possible.

It was how he kept on explaining that at first.

Second time he meets her, he doesn’t really realize who she is yet, and Ezio is in flirty mood.

**~•(x)•~**

“What are you doing up here, all alone, _signora_?” Ezio asks first thing upon spotting her on that roof on the highest tower of the city. He has just escaped guards, and didn’t expect any company, but a lady to talk to ( _flirt with_ ) is always nice to have nearby.

When she turns around, he isn’t scared. He is simply intrigued by her skin so white, hair so black and eyes so red. She smiles to him gently and says; “I’m waiting for you, Ezio.”

And, for a moment, Ezio is speechless and doesn’t know what to do, how to answer. And then, only then, when he sees that she wears Assassin’s emblem on her belt, it enlightens him.

“You are the one who was sent to help me, were you not?” he asks, and the woman laughs gently, and this laugh is so pleasant to hear. “May I know your name, _signora_?” he bows.

“My name is Lorelei” comes a simple answer, as she bows back. After that, she gestures for the wooden plank, and Ezio smiles, because it’s a perfect spot for Leap of Faith. “Shall we?”

“Ladies first” he bows even lower and offers her his hand, which she takes, and then she makes perfect Leap and he feels almost jealous.

Working with her, that’s something. She speaks little, but does much, as if understanding him before he speaks, reading his movements. The assassination Ezio deemed close to impossible turns out to be child’s play with her help. She’s even nice enough to wait for him and allow him to claim the kill.

It’s mutual decision to stay and enjoy the festival afterwards, albeit they keep their distance from the people. They’re assassins, after all, they prefer solitude.

“Say, Lorelei” Ezio finally speaks, as they sit on the roof of one of higher buildings, just after they finished their second bottle of fine, old, red wine. Lorelei got it, it was well-aged and bittersweet, just like good wine should be. Just like Assasin’s life was.

“Yes?”  she asks, polite, her head titled and no sign of alcohol working on her.

“You are from a foreign land, si? From outside Italia” man asks, and she giggles.

“Yes, albeit I do not remember from where. I don’t think I was born in my homeland, I remember very little of my first five years in the world, including my parents” she answers, and Ezio hums quietly in response.

Then, he moves a bit closer, suddenly leaning over her.

“Lorelei, fairest of them all, would you grace me with a kiss?” he asks, and she actually laughs aloud, pushing him back.

“Ezio, you’re drunk and spitting nonsense!” she says, still laughing.

Her laugh is very beautiful and melodic, almost inhumanly so.

**~•(x)•~**

Second time they met, Ezio almost kissed her, and Desmond is happy he didn’t because it would be totally weird later.


	4. Third

_She held her mouth up redly wan,_

_And burning cold,—I bent and kissed_

_Such rosy snow as some wild dawn_

_Makes of a mist._

It was by the time he was going through Edward’s memories in hope of finding something useful, when he stumbled upon her again. That time, though, he realized that she was one and the same. She always was one and the same – and it was no coincidence.

It was her. It has always been her, since forever.

Third time he meets her, she finally bares her fangs, and Desmond freaks out. Edward is just intrigued.

**~•(x)•~**

Templars were falling like flies, bend under unyielding force, one second standing and the other, falling down with throats ripped open. And then, she suddenly stands before Edward, dressed in black and skin, her skin even paler than ever, cut with many, many dark veins, her eyes glowing red and like an animal.

She smiled.

Desmond’s body, albeit unconscious in real world, screamed in fear. Edward, however just stood there, and stared.

She didn’t have those ridiculous, long two fangs like those caricatures of a vampire usually had in various description, no. Starting from canines, both up and low rows of her teeth were sharp fangs.

“Hello, Edward” she spoke, and it sounded so surreal, as if it wasn’t she. She looked as if she was made of mist, darkness and blood, so primal, so dangerous.

“I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself” is all Edward says back, crossing his arms on his chest. She smiles even wider, walking closer to him, and he doesn’t even flinch. “I don’t believe you did, either.”

She laughs, and her laugh is something Desmond knows; quite friendly and amused, as melodic as ever.

“I’m Edna, and I’m saving you, as you can see” she answers, and albeit her tone is friendly, everything about her screams to run frantic and never turn back. Edward doesn’t.

“You’re not a human, are you?” he then asks very important question, and Desmond isn’t sure whether he can handle the answer, the confirmation, even if it all screams it’s real.

“No” she confirms.

“Then, what are you?” Edward asks, and Edna smiles.

“A vampire” she answers. Completely casually, as if it was something natural, obvious, _normal_.

Edward isn’t afraid. Edward is curious. Genuinely. He asks, he listens, he watches. He is amazed, enchanted maybe by that woman of mist, darkness and blood. But that primal force melted with darkness, locked in physical form of a woman, is frightening. Absolutely.

Her eyes red. They look dead, like made of glass, yet sharp and dangerous.

Edward’s questions just don’t seem to stop.

**~•(x)•~**

Once he quits Animus, he’s shaken, and his breath hitched. They all ask him what’s wrong, but he doesn’t answer. He can’t, he won’t. they wouldn’t believe anyway.

Third time they met, Edward kept much more cold blood than he, and Desmond is deeply grateful for that.


	5. Fourth

_God shall not take from me that hour,_

_When round my neck her white arms clung!_

_When ‘neath my lips, like some fierce flower,_

_Her white throat swung!_

 

Next time he goes in, he knows what he’ll be dealing with, and he knows he’s not ready at all. He knows what she is, and he has absolutely no idea how to cope with that.

Fourth time they met, it’s Connor’s turn to handle it worse than Desmond, but he knows by then that she’s mostly harmless.

**~•(x)•~**

“Don’t come near me!” Connor yells – howls – as she tries to approach. She doesn’t reveal herself, but for Connor she was an anomaly at first glance. He has heard all too much stories of white-skinned, red-eyed monsters in shape of humans who feed on blood of innocent and seen too many wonders to doubt that what he encountered now was inhuman.

“I’m just trying to help you, stupid boy!” she scowls, eyes shining red. Connor is quite stuck under a tree that fell on him, and it’s burning, and in such situation he’d rather yell and wave his hidden blade at her than accept her offer.

“No! You will kill me and suck my blood!” he yells again, but the fire burns closer. Whole forest is burning, actually. It also kind of is Connor’s fault.

Woman doesn’t answer, just growls, and walks over despise protests. Connor stiffens, paralyzed, as she kneels just next to him, dugs her hands under a tree and lifts it as if it was just a small twig, with just one hand. He whimpers when she grabs his collar and drags him from under the wood before letting it back down.

Then, they run to safety, out of the burning trees. She doesn’t let go of him for a second, and next time she looks in his eyes, he is **terrified**. She snorts. He’s just a child, after all.

“What’s your name?” she asks, and he looks at her with those big, shocked eyes. “I’m Anna.”

“C-Connor” he stutters, and then, slightly panicked, adds; “ma’am.”

‘Anna’ (Desmond knows perfectly well it’s not her real name) first snorts, and then bursts out with uncontrollable laughter, absolutely amused.

“Boy, don’t call me ma’am, okay? I know I’m old, but you don’t have to remind me that!” she scolds him playfully, and he whines, backing few steps. “Hey now, I’m not going to hurt you!”

Connor only shakes his head, taking few more steps back. That is, until she pounces on him, giving him big, long surprise hug.

He does plunge his hidden blades into her chest, and she doesn’t even seem to notice it.

**~•(x)•~**

By then he knows she means no harm. She’s playful, friendly and patient, after all.

Fourth time they met, it’s Connor’s turn to handle it worse than Desmond, but he knows by then that she’s mostly harmless.


	6. Fifth

_Or words she murmured while she leaned!_

_Witch-words, she holds me softly by,—_

_The spell that binds me to a fiend_

**_Until I die._ **

Desmond opens his eyes very, very slowly. Or, at least, he thinks he does. World is fogged, and everything is so unbearably cold, and his body is so stiff and in pain.

First thing he sees, are eyes glowing red, embraced with thick, long, black eyelashes. He doesn’t really react at that, because the view is all so familiar, and albeit worried (the expression he sees for the first time), it’s for sure her.

Saoirse, Lorelei, Edna, Anna. What’s her name now, Desmond wonders. He parts his lips, trying to speak, but no sound comes through his stiff, dry throat. She shushes him, and smiles gently.

“It’s okay, Desmond. You’re okay. You’re with me now.”

He sure is. If there’s one thing he had learnt for sure throughout his voyages through memories of his ancestors it’s that you can always trust this certain vampire. Desmond, after all, knew her well. Learned her well – through eyes of his many ancestors in past, and she remained unchanged.

“I’m Alice” she says, and some part of Desmond wants to say ‘I know’, but he honestly didn’t, as that was the first time he meets her as Alice. Instead, he smiles and nods as much as he can.

Why is his body so stiff?

Fifth time he meets her, for the first time, she is next to him in flesh. And he honestly doesn’t really mind that fact.

But then, he realizes he should be dead, and he freaks out.

It hits him like a thunder, his last memories rushing in. End of the world, Juno, sacrifice. He should be dead. He should be away, not existing anymore. He panics, and starts trashing, but then Alice puts her cold, cold hand on his forehead, and hums a song.

“It’s okay now, Desmond. You need to sleep. Your body needs to adapt.”

Adapt to what, he wants to ask, but only then he understands.

There is but one possibility that would allow him to live through his own death.

Fifth time they meet, she turns him into one of her own.


End file.
